The news and herald. (Winnsboro, S.C.) 1877-1900, 1887-05-24
STOLEN FROM THE FORT.


The srn shone as brilliantly on the
parade-grOund at Fort Fletcher as
though it was an earthly paradise in
stead ofsa bleak and ugly bit Of Mon.
tana prairie, cut off from its parent
wilderness only by some rough defenses
ami two rows OF sufficiently ill-built
quarters.
Mabel Heriot, sitting in small
porch in front Of her husbands quar-
ters, her fingers busy with some huge
darns in a pair Of scarlet stockings,
turned her pretty, discontented eyes,
snore often than was good for the pro-
gress of her work, to another pair Of
scarlet stockings which flashed In and
out among the group Of children with
an activity which promised her more
darning in the near future, for they
belonged to her small son, and though
TrOttie was only three years old, he
had early manifested a positive genius
for wear and tear, holding his own In
that, as in other boyish attributes,
among the elder children with cheer
full self-confdence which filled his
mother with mingled admiration and
regret.
Life had been so easy-no cares, no
responsibilities, no anxieties - while
everything girl could desire Of lux
ury, amusement and admiration had
been Showered upon her as the adopted
daughter of wealthy and generous,
though rather tyrannical. uncle. 1t
had all been quite perfect until she
had danced with Tom Heriot at a
West Point ball, and read something in
his blue eyes, heard something in his
pleasant voice, that stirred her heart
with the conviction that, charming as
her life had seemed, it would hencefOrth
be very empty and desolate il she must
Danish these eyes and that voice from
it-a conviction strong enough to sup.
port her through all the stormy scenes
which followed her uncle's bitter oppo-.
sition to her engagement to penniless
lieutenant; strong enough to make her
reply to his final declaration that she
must choose between her lover and him
by putting her hand in Tom Heriot's,
with the passionate protest that where
he went, there must she follow. even
though it, were tn the worlds end
Her thoughts came back suddenly to
the present at O more uproarious shout
than usual from the children, and she
saw Trottie cantering toward her
astrlde of a stick, while half the pleats
of his killed skirt trailed behind him.
"Oh, what boyl'' she cried, rising to
catch him as he passed.
An Indian woman. with basketful
of beadwork strapped to her back, stood
gazing at the mother and child, with q
look Of yearning sorrow In her eyes,
which half touched, half frightened
Mabel. who do you wantpn she
asked quickly. !.
Me want nothing white mother can
give" the squaw answered, grayely,
laying one brown hand on Trottie's
bright HAIR. "Him pretty boy" she
said slowly, a hard breath between each
sentence. ME have pretty boy so
big. White mother very happy. She
keep her boy. Great Spirit take my
boy" Then with a. gesture Of despair
which all her wonderful savage endur-
ance could not subdue, she clasped
both hands before her face ana sank on
her knees, shaking with sobs which
she still struggled to silence.
The tears filled Mabel's eyes, but she
stood hesitating what to do, her aver
sion to Indians. which was the natural
result Of four years spent in their near
nei iGhborhood, striving with her COM
passion for the grief which most ap.
peals to woman's sympathy.
But no doubt troubled Trottie. Grief
was evident in every line Of the bent,
trembling figure, and for every griet in
his experience there was one remedy
sure and unfailing. lie applied it at
once.
Mot cry any morel" he said in his
cheerful little voice, and kissed the
only bit Of brown cheek which her
'clasped hands left visible.
She turned as though she would have
Aung her arms about him, but Mabel
had clasped her boy fast, with a sudden
terror, sharp though tndefnable.
The Indian rose slowly, her face re-
covering its usual calm as she did so.
Pretty boy very good to me; white
mother not be afraid me hurt him, -
she said, and walked away with grave
dignity which brought shamed color
to Mabel's face.
She stepped forward with an impulse
to say something kind, but paused
with u smile at herself, half shy, half
amused. What could she say Of conso.
latlOn that an Indian woman would
understand, whose religious faith was
probably even more vague than her
knowledge Of Englishp And she shrank
from Offering a grief that was so real
and 80 dignlfled the usual very substan-
tial cure of squaw troubles. /, No. ,Trot-
tie has done all that could be done to
show their sympathy. Poor soull what
ever else she might fail to comprehend,
she had understood the touch Of those
baby lips. ~.,.,..s,.,.s .s,L. y
With kiss that was even more ten
der than usual, Mabel Herlot took hel
boy OIL her knees, and told him fairy
stores until dinner time, to the utter
neglect OF the undarned stockings and
the torn skirt. ~
All that day Mabel felt strangely